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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28043796">he would have liked you</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werekoyote/pseuds/Werekoyote'>Werekoyote</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens Crossovers [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett, Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol, Crowley (Good Omens) is Crowley (Supernatural), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Mourns Aziraphale, Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Grief, M/M, Sam Comforts Crowley, Sam Comforts Gabriel, Sam is becoming a supernatural therapist, Temporary Character Death, aziraphale WAS dead but not anymore, he is not getting paid for this, he should be though, the author is too soft for deaths</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:54:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,641</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28043796</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Werekoyote/pseuds/Werekoyote</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley doesn’t really know how he came to be here. How he ended up in this blasted pub in the middle no-fucking-where in America, spilling his guts to a Winchester he does not know either. He imagined it had to do with the human blood they injected in his veins. Or perhaps it was because it had been decades and decades since he last felt the overwhelming lost that is the death of his best friend. Of his beloved.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)/Gabriel (Supernatural)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Good Omens Crossovers [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2297390</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>174</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley doesn’t really know how he came to be here. How he ended up in this blasted pub in the middle no-fucking-where in America, spilling his guts to a Winchester he does not know either. He imagined it had to do with the human blood they injected in his veins. Or perhaps it was because it had been decades and decades since he last <em>felt</em> the overwhelming lost that is the death of his best friend. Of his beloved.</p><p>“He was good,” he said, voice cracking, “He was so <em>so </em>good. In a way that almost no angel is.” Sam tries his best not to call the tear that fell from the demon’s eyes to attention. Tries to stop his heart from wrenching at the pain and the hollowness of the demon’s voice.</p><p>“He’d forgive me,” Sam was surprised to find that it was not malice nor relief in his voice. It was grief, it was bitterness. “Because he’s an idiot and he’s <em>so good.</em>” Sam looked away when Crowley choked back a sob.</p><p>“He would say, ’It’s alright, my dear. I forgive you, even when you can’t bear to forgive yourself for who you have become,’” Crowley’s sob wracked his frame, “And he would mean it, and he would tell me he’s sorry, because he’s a bastard and an idiot,” tears ran freely from his eyes and Sam didn’t know if he wants to wrap the demon in his arms and cradle him or give him more of the terrible whiskey that they’ve been drinking. He looked like he needed both. He did neither. He stood sentinel and laid a hand on the demon’s shoulder.</p><p>“It’s not his fault,” he looked at Sam brokenly and Sam cam feel his heart breaking, “It will never be his fault. It was me,” and his voice tapered off to an almost whimper. “I told him to fight,” and Sam understood that. The guilt. The ‘it was me’. My fault. Not his. Not hers. Not theirs. <em>Me</em>. <em>My</em> fault.</p><p>“I – I told him – I told him it would be <em>our side</em>,” the bitterness Sam could feel. It was a bitterness that came out of hope. Broken, useless, painful hope. It was all Sam could do not to brawl his eyes too.</p><p>“Ssssstupid. Fucking <em>sssssstupid</em>,” Sam was taken aback by the fire in there. The hatred. But well, he understood that too. The crushing self-loathing that weighs down your throat. “I ssssshould have known, I ssssshould have fucking known!” He tightened the hand on the demon’s shoulder. Not having the words to explain that he understood. That he was here. He wasn’t whoever it was that Crowley was talking about but he was here at least. And he understood.</p><p>“An angel and a demon, too full of themselvessss to realisssse,” Sam’s brows were furrowed, he had never heard Crowley hiss like that. “There wassss no way we could have gotten away with it usssscathed. No way! Did we fucking acknowledge that? Fuck no, we were more content to think we outssssmarted them. Ssstupid.” He laughed, the kind of hysteric laugh-sobbing of someone desperate to <em>make it stop, please.</em> And Sam just stood there, tears streaming down his face and holding on to the demon’s shoulder, unsure if he was consoling the demon or himself.</p><p>“They killed him - ,” his breath hitched and for a moment Sam was worried he’d set fire to the whole fucking bar, “But he fought them, he – he took as much of them as he could with him. He was a Cherub – Before. He fucking fought them.” Crowley sobbed again. “I could have helped. I <em>would </em>have helped.” He choked back another sob, “He – he miracled me away. Blocked me from the whole of England. I could only come back – after.” He let out a keening noise and sobs escaped him again.</p><p>“I – I’m sorry,” Sam swallowed when Crowley turned his whole attention on him. He jumped out of his skin when the demon laughed.</p><p>Crowley laughed, and laughed and laughed and laughed. The <em>audacity </em>of them! The <em>nerve</em>! The <em>stupidity</em> and <em>hubris</em> of them. Fucking humans. Putting the thoughts of resilience in him. Of fighting against the odds. The lies of rebellion against injustice.  The lies of Justice itself. Fucking humans and their creativity and love and thirst for knowledge. Their imagination, kindness, cruelty. Fuck them. For their freedom and their choosing your fate schmuck. Fuck them for making him believe he can have that. <em>They </em>could have that. <em>Manchester, Angel you’d be so fucking disappointed.</em></p><p>He looked over at the hand on his shoulder once his manic laugh-sobs have stopped and the man that owns it. <em>Angel you would love this one.</em> “He’d love you, had he met you,” he said, looking at the Moose’s eyes, seeing sympathies and <em>understanding</em> in there. Foolish boy. As if he could understand 6000 years’ worth of wasted opportunities. His heart warmed anyway.</p><p>“A bookish American boy who looks at the world and see <em>hope</em> in it.” He looked away from those honest earnest eyes and stared down his drink. Foolish boy. Sympathizing with a demon. Identifying with one. “He would have done anything in his power to protect your innocence.” He saw the child’s minute indignation in that and smirked.</p><p>Eyes radiating mirth despite the pain that lingers there.</p><p>“I would have loved to meet him,” his voice quiet and gruff from respect and disuse. “He sounds… amazing,” he said and Crowley can hear the awe in his voice.</p><p>Crowley smiled, hollow and sad and grateful.</p><p>“I’d love to know more about him… if that’s – okay with you,” earnest and honest and kind. Yes, Aziraphale would have loved this boy.</p><p>So Crowley told him. Told the story of an angel who didn’t kill a demon on sight. An angel whose blade (“he had a sword, a holy one, it was flaming like anything,”) was given to the first humans and became the summoning tool for war. He told his rapt audience of his life on earth. From the Beginning. The Arrangement, the dinners, the lunches, that time in the bastille, the holy water debacle, the Nazi spies, and more. So, so much more. By the time Crowley had gotten to the bit about Noah’s boat (“You smuggled children in?!” “They were kids! You can’t kill kids!”) – The story was told out of order to infuriate the Moose but Sam had no trouble following – it was almost sunrise and the demon is quite thoroughly smashed.</p><p>He was almost unconscious, not that Sam can blame him really. It must have been exhausting to tell those stories. There were times when Sam was sure Crowley would stop and tell him it was all a joke and try to convince him it was nothing but a prank but Crowley didn’t stop. He told stories, after stories, after stories, and Sam ate them up like a child being read a bedtime story. It was fascinating. It was heart wrenching and terrible and beautiful and joyful and scary and exciting and Sam wished he could have met the angel that made the King of Hell so in love, so besotted in him that he turned into a completely different person when he lost him.</p><p>He wished he’d met Crowley too. Before this. Before all of the things that made him who he is now.</p><p>Not for the first time – and certainly not for the last – Sam wished Aziraphale was still alive. It would have been something, he thought to himself, to see a demon head over heels for an angel of all things. <em>And no</em>, he thought firmly, <em>it is not at all because I want to see Crowley happy</em>. It’d be interesting is all, to see two beings, so different and opposite of each other in every way yet so very much the same. And so very much in love.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>um... crowley meets gabriel...again. apparently they know each other? and sam wished he had a better brother.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>am i writing a new chapter for a one shot? yes, yes i am. am i doing that to procrastinate my other stories that actually needs to be updated? yes, yes i am. do i regret doing this? no, no i do not. enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You’re working with archangels now?” the voice flooded relief in Sam’s voice and Dean wasn’t sure if he should be glad or concerned that his brother is relieved to hear a demon.</p><p>Gabriel turned so fast Sam was worried he’d get whiplash. His face had gone deathly pale and his eyes are widened and for a brief second Sam thought he saw hope in those eyes. It was gone before he could make sure and in its place is passed relief, joy, guilt, and fear in such quick succession. That was alarming.</p><p>“C-crowley..?” his voice broke into a croak and Dean was alarmed to find tears welling up in the archangel’s eyes.</p><p>“That the best you can do?” Crowley scoffed, his voice dripping with malice that confused Sam, “Sad voice and sadder eyes? C’mon <em>Loki</em>, we both know you’re <em>better</em> than that,” he said <em>Loki</em> with such venom that Sam was taken back to when Crowley told him about being the very first snake. He always imagined Crowley would be an extremely venomous snake.</p><p>“Crowley I –“ Gabriel made an aborted grabbing motion and half a step but Crowley recoiled like the thought of the Archangel’s touch burned. For all Sam knew, maybe it did.</p><p>“Do <em>not</em> lay your hands on me.” Crowley’s eyes glowed, but it wasn’t the red glow of a demon. It was a golden glow and Sam held in a gasp when he saw that his eyes were slits. Gabriel took his hands back as if slapped and Sammy can kind of understand. He’s never seen Crowley like this. This wasn’t how he rages, not the way he expresses displeasure.</p><p>“<em>Crowley please – </em>“ Sam’s eyes widened with worry when he saw emotions that he’s never seen on the trickster’s face and his eyes. Gabriel was smugness and amusement and pettiness not raw, genuine pain and desperation. There wasn’t even an attempt to look his usual self.</p><p>“Save it, Archangel.” Crowley said before materializing a pair of sunglasses and pulling put a folded piece of paper from his jacket. He gripped the paper so tight as if it were his lifeline, Sam could see it crumple where he was holding it. Sam didn’t know what he’ll do with that but he wasn’t very optimistic. Crowley threw the paper to the Archangel.</p><p>“I wrote it. His <em>last</em> <em>message</em> to <em>you.</em>” He said you with such disgust that Sam almost missed the pained surprise on Gabriel’s face.</p><p>“He – he,” he seemed to have stopped functioning, even Dean was getting worried now, “a message..?” Poor Archangel seems to have lost his grip of the English language.</p><p>Him? Last message?</p><p>“Him? Who’s ‘he’?” Dean asked, speaking for the first time since Crowley entered. “And since when did you guys know each other?” Sam let out a sigh of exasperation at Dean’s lack of tact and resigned himself to putting his brother back together after the two are done with him. Maybe he’ll ask Cas? He certainly likes Dean enough.</p><p>“Don’t start Winchester, it’s not any of your business,” Crowley said to him before turning to Gabriel.</p><p>“And <em>you</em>,” he pointed a finger on the bemused Angel’s direction, “He spent the last breath he has to tell you <em>he’s forgiven you</em>. Be fucking careful Archangel, I designed the stars and created nebulae. You cost me my angel, I want you to know that I can kill you now but I won’t.” He took a step towards the Gabriel. “So in every day that you live in guilt, I want you to know that I could have stopped that. I could have rid you of your guilt but I chose not to. Suffer, Archangel. Suffer like I did. This is your Damnation. This is your Fall from grace.”</p><p>And suddenly Sam wasn’t as clueless as he would have liked to be.</p><p>Crowley turned around and started walking away, “And if you still have a thread of shame in your cowardly vessel, don’t ever call on me again. You’ve already cost me too much.”</p><p> </p><p>…..</p><p>“What was that?” Sam was sure if the supernatural beings didn’t kill Dean, he will.</p><p>“I – that was my biggest regret…” Gabriel whispered and clutched the folded paper close to his chest. Holding it much like Crowley had. Like a lifeline.</p><p>“I – I’m sorry, Gabe.” Sam tried to put a hand on Gabriel’s shoulder and walk him to another room. His worry intensify when the Archangel comes without complaint.  He led Gabriel to their bar in the bunker, he didn’t think there was enough whiskey in the cupboards to help Gabriel but he didn’t really know a better way.</p><p>Gabriel was still clutching the paper – which he still hasn’t read yet – like a kicked little puppy holding on to his master’s slippers.</p><p>“I – is it about that angel?” he asked after he sat the angel at the bar and long stretches of silence passed. “A – Aziraphale..?”</p><p>Gabriel’s head whipped up and his eyes sparked to life. Sam took half a step back in surprise. “How did you know that name?” Sam took another step back from the frantic question but answered cautiously “Crowley told me,” he said “but he never said anything about you – “ Sam cut himself off before he says anything damaging.</p><p>Gabriel’s eyes turned dead again and Sam wondered how he fits into the narrative of the two’s love story. Wondered why his eyes are the same dead that Crowley’s were while telling the story of his beloved. He didn’t know if he wanted to know what happened that could cause such heartache in those two.</p><p>“Of course he wouldn’t, why would he? I basically killed him,” Sam knew he was talking about different persons simply by the way he said ‘he’. It was fascinating to Sam.</p><p>“What do you mea – “but Sam was interrupted. “I loved him. I loved him and I <em>killed him,</em>” and Sam understands what that means. Kind of.</p><p>Gabriel looked at him with such heartbroken eyes that Sam couldn’t help himself from comforting the being. He listened attentively to his stories of the Principality Aziraphale who took him in and helped him hide since the Greek. The being who made him fall in love with food and stories and books. The being of comfort and warmth and <em>love </em>that burned him with kindness. He listened carefully, nodding and making appropriate hums whenever necessary. He cried and laughed and let the Archangel pour his guilt and his regret and his pain. Hundreds of years of it.</p><p>
  <em>Oh god I’m turning into a supernatural therapist, I don’t get paid enough for this.</em>
</p><p>All joking aside though, Sam had never seen either enities so distraught and distressed. He wondered what kind of miracle Aziraphale was to have made these two love him so thoroughly. So loyally. He kind of wished someone could love him for even a fraction of the way these two love this dead angel.</p><p>He really wished he’d have met Aziraphale. He sounds like an interesting fellow. He would have liked him.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>um... i'm sorry..?</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was comfortable, the way it was told was cozy and warm. And Crowley cannot help but miss home. Where Aziraphale would have been.</p><p>He would have told the story instead. And it wouldn’t be the same lazy, slow recollection of details that make the story more real and more surreal. It would have been slow but in the way that interrupted reading was slow. He would have tumbled and gotten distracted in the middle of a sentence, just anecdotes after anecdotes, until neither the story teller nor the listener know the beginning of the tale.</p><p>Crowley would have rejoiced in that. He would have basked in affection and love, love, <em>love</em> and he’d find himself smiling, lost in the sound of his Angel’s voice. Lost in his warmth. His presence and his softness and his love. And Aziraphale would look up from his story and with a look of surprise and look down, eyes shining with love and devotion.</p><p>He would smile.</p><p>Knowingly and kindly and lovingly, and Crowley would have precious seconds to panic. He would feel the anxiety knot in his stomach from where he lay, head on the Angel’s thighs. He would look down with mischief and joy and love, love,<em> love</em> and would say “Oh, my dear.” Oh so, <em>so softly</em> and Crowley would fall.</p><p>Down, down, down. But Aziraphale would be there to catch him. To take him deeper. Crowley never really knew.</p><p>“Bastard,” he said softly. A prayer, whispered in the air. “Come back to me,” solemn and desperate. His voice higher than normal. He slid from his chair, discarding the book he just read.</p><p>He knelt, his legs trembling, and put shaking hands together. He bowed his head, forehead leaning against his clasped hands. “Please, <em>please </em>Angel, come back to me,” he closed his eyes tightly. And willed with all his condemnable heart to <em>bring his Angel back. </em>The winds stirred and his curtains swayed with the breeze. He can smell the ozone as his Will burnt the very fabric of reality.</p><p>And then stillness as if all of the world held its breath in anticipation. Not even the winds moved. Nor the clouds. The busy street stopped without knowing why. Everyone’s hearts felt heavy and the urge to call or to be with the people they love becomes almost overwhelming.</p><p>And Crowley, still knelt on the ground, in front of Aziraphale’s books, let out a sob.</p><p>All of London cried with him, his sobs echoed in the hearts of everyone that even the farthest reaches of the world felt his sorrow.</p><p>There was a blinding light.</p><p>----</p><p> </p><p>In America, in Lebanon, Kansas, under an abandoned building and inside the many wards that kept the place safe, a long haired man fell to his knees and cried. His heavy heart crushed by the weight of mourning. The other inhabitants are so similarly affected that one (1) Nephilim heard a prayer meant only for one angel.</p><p>Jack Kline did not know what to do, or what was happening but it hurts and he wants it to <em>stop please. </em>He opened his eyes and his eyes had taken on a golden hue and he wished, he Willed with all his might to <em>bring him back. </em>Light flooded the Bunker and he knew no more.</p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p>Crowley whipped his head so quickly that had he been human there would have been worried of a whiplash, but he wasn’t and he didn’t have enough energy in him to think about those things. In front of him stood someone he never would have thought would come back.</p><p>“Angel,” he breathed, a soft murmur. A whisper. As if fearing that if he were to speak to loudly, what was surely an illusion would scatter in the winds. Lost. Again.</p><p>“<em>My dear,</em>” he smiled.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Back in Lower Tadfield Adam Young went back to sleep, content in the knowledge that the random burst of divine energy that he had snatched from the air, and converged in to a miracle to answer Crowley’s prayers had worked.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Aziraphale and Crowley reconnects with each other and reunite with their Archangel</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Aziraphale brought up the subject of Gabriel after three weeks. Three weeks spent intertwined and always at each other’s arm’s reach. Three weeks of holding his beautiful, wonderful, hurt demon as he confessed a litany of his sins.</p><p> </p><p>He had knelt in front of Aziraphale and bowed his head. Praying. Worshipping. Only for Aziraphale. Always for Aziraphale. And he confessed.</p><p> </p><p>Sins rolled off of his tongue, every word comes with a strengthening conviction that Aziraphale would hate him. Shun him. Despise him. Leave him.</p><p> </p><p>But Aziraphale held him, heart breaking at the pain and remorse in his beloved’s voice and in the certainty that he will be Damned. Yet again. Aziraphale knelt in front of him when finally his mouth stopped moving and looked into his naked yellow eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I forgive you,” he whispered. Touching his forehead with his darling. “My love, my beautiful darling, <em>I forgive you</em>.” And Crowley had whimpered as if pained and Aziraphale’s heart broke.</p><p> </p><p>He miracled them into his Bookshop flat. Carefully entwining their limbs and pressing as close to his demon as he dared. At some point in the last three weeks, someone had reached for the other metaphysically and they entwined their true forms in the other plane. Memory had become blurred as boundaries between individuals became indistinct and distorted.</p><p> </p><p>The days passed without much change. Their litany of assurances filled the room and filled each other with the unbelievable joy of being together.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley was not happy. He had hissed at the mention of the Archangel’s name as if it burned him and Aziraphale knew that it did. He raged and snarled and grouched and the stray unfortunate costumers that tried to buy books were treated to the brunt of his anger. Aziraphale had sighed in apology and soothed his scalded demon. He had grumbled and growled in his arms. Whispering a curses into the air but not letting them develop into full powered blights.</p><p> </p><p>It was a month after that when he brought it up next. They had been having dinner at the Ritz as they had taken to doing after they got tired of doing nothing at the fourth week. Crowley had grumbled and narrowed his eyes but his hiss is not so filled with rage and his growls on the way home less charged with demonic power.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale had glowed and smiled and he had melted in his presence.</p><p> </p><p>It took another week for them to actually talk about Gabriel. He listened to the pained voice of his beloved as he told the story of how he had started blaming Gabriel for the Incident. Aziraphale held him through all of it and murmured reassurances when Crowley’s voice was more whimper than words.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Oh</em>, my dear,” his heart breaks at the tears in Crowley’s eyes. Crowley made a keening noise in his throat.</p><p> </p><p>“I know it wasn’t his fault. Not really. It was going to happen <em>sssssooner or later,</em>” his voice broke and Aziraphale’s heart along with it. “But I was ssso <em>angry,</em>” he choked, “Sssso, <em>sssso</em> <em>angry</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>“<em>My dear – </em>” tears fell from his eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“But it wassss sssso eassssy to blame him,” his head bowed in shame, “I couldn’t – I couldn’t <em>not</em>.” He looked at Aziraphale with such broken eyes. “<em>I’m ssso ssso ssssorry, Angel.</em>”</p><p> </p><p>“My <em>darling</em>,” his voice as broken as Crowley’s devastated eyes. “Oh, my love,” he reached out and cocooned his beloved in his arms and his wings. “<em>I forgive you,</em>” he said even though there was nothing to forgive.</p><p> </p><p>It took two weeks after that before they stopped feeling so raw about the Archangel and it was Crowley who breached the subject. Aziraphale counts this as a win. They talked over what needed to be said, the things that needed to be forgiven, things that require apologies. They talked till the early lights of morning and found the resolve to move at the last embers of day.</p><p> </p><p>They miracle themselves outside the Bunker and Crowley knocked politely on the door.</p><p> </p><p>Sam answered with a gun at his side and suspicion in his eyes. He relaxed when he saw who it was but cast a questioning look at Aziraphale. He listed an eyebrow and resisted itching his skin. <em>Bloody disgusting vessel</em>. It was awful but it was necessary. Wouldn’t do to turn up in a corporation that they didn’t recognize.</p><p> </p><p>“This is my… ah – friend,” behind him Aziraphale snorted and pressed his hands on his lips to stop the giggles. He was unsuccessful. Crowley rolled his eyes, fond smile lighting up his face. “<em>Angel</em>,” he said in exasperation but the giggles only intensified.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not friends,” they got married sometime last month. “We’re hereditary enemies,” he said, giggling at his own joke. Poor Moose looks incredibly confused. He tried not to think on the fact that he finds this incredibly adorable. The giggling. Also the confusion.</p><p> </p><p>“Uh…” Sam gave Crowley a look that says <em>what the fuck?</em> And Crowley grinned his shit-eating grin.</p><p> </p><p>“Introduce yourself, Angel.” He said, still smiling like the idiot he can feel himself sinking back into.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, of course,” he said, straightening his <em>tartan</em> bowtie, terrible, crime against fashion tartan bowtie, “Where are my manners,” he dithered. Holding out his hand, “I am an Angel of the Lord, we don’t talk much anymore though,” Sam reached out to clasp his hand, spine crawling with horror.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Bastard</em>,” Crowley breathed, besotted.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale turned to him, smug and mischievous, “Rather,” he said. He turned back to Sam, “Aziraphale,” he said and shook the human’s hand once before letting it go to settle beside his demon again.</p><p> </p><p>He can see Sam’s train of thought stutter and halt, engine dying and smoke erupting from the driver’s compartment before sputtering to life again.</p><p> </p><p>“Wuah…” he said, eloquently.</p><p> </p><p>“Yes, is the Archangel Gabriel inside?” he pushed the confused Moose aside and pulled his Angel into the bunker. “I would like to have words with him.” he said gravely.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Crowley</em>,” his smile broadened when he felt exasperation waft over to him from where the angel is at the end of his hand.</p><p> </p><p>“Gabriel! Trixiie!! Come on out!” he hollered, besotted smile never leaving his face even when he heard Sam whisper <em>Trixie?</em> Under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>There was a crash from somewhere inside the Bunker, followed by curses and the vague smell of peanuts roasting. The smell of reality being bent. Looks like someone miracled their hangover away. Crowley smiled brighter.</p><p> </p><p>There was shuffling behind them and a sharp intake of breath.</p><p> </p><p>“<em>Aziraphale,</em>” he said it much like Crowley had. A prayer. A plea. <em>Please, please, please, be real.</em></p><p> </p><p>Crowley let go of the Cherub and held his arms out to indicate him dramatically. “<em>Ta-da!</em>”</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale rolled his eyes but opened his arms. Sure enough the Archangel barreled into his chest and held on as tightly as he could manage. Were he human, he would’ve had bones crushed from such force.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley’s smile softened into something Sam felt guilty for intruding in.</p><p> </p><p>“He’s back,” he said, draping himself over his two Angels.</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>um dealing with trauma but metaphysically? also gem fusion maybe???</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>i- dont know what happened it started writing itself like this</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I can’t fucking believe you,” Gabriel said, sounding watery. “Aziraphaaaaale, he called me Trixiee,” he whined and Sam’s heart clenched – in joy. Very much in joy. He was very happy for them. Gabriel especially.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale chuckled and suddenly Sam became very aware of why they loved him.</p><p> </p><p>He was beatific. The most angel looking angel Sam had ever seen. His hair seems to glow and his smile could power the Bunker of years. His voice was Jess’s murmured reassurance, a hot cocoa in winter, Bobby’s proud smile and it was home. Nothing ever felt more like home than when Aziraphale spoke with soft gentle tones.</p><p> </p><p>His eyes were the kindest shade of blue Sam had ever seen. He had thought Cas’s eyes were unbelievable but now he finds they cannot compare with Aziraphale’s pale, love lit eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, I do apologize, dear boy, but I’m sure he felt it necessary,” his eyes darkened in mischief and Sam’s breath caught. “And I must say, your time as Trixie shall forever be brought forth into the light whenever you try to run away from us.”</p><p> </p><p>There was a keening sound and Sam barely had the wherewithal to feel relieved it wasn’t coming from him.</p><p> </p><p>“Wasn’t running away.” It was muffled but the petulance was as clear as the light in Aziraphale’s eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“Of course not, dear.” He rolled his eyes fondly and lifted the Archangel Fucking Gabriel effortlessly and carried to the general direction of the library. Gabriel squealed so loud Sam was hoping his own ‘meep’ didn’t get heard but Crowley’s smirk at both of them does not inspire confidence in Sam.</p><p> </p><p>He strode away with the two angels after casting a salacious look in Sam’s way.</p><p> </p><p>He waited until all supernatural entities have gone out of sight and then some more before sighing and sitting down with his head in his hands.</p><p> </p><p>He stayed there for a few minutes, trying to get his breathing and his face under control. He stood up and he didn’t run but it was a very close thing, to his room and shut himself inside.</p><p> </p><p>In the library, far from the prying eyes of the brothers, the three curled in on one another. Murmured apologies hung in the air and immediate forgiveness blew it away and it was bright and good and <em>right.</em></p><p> </p><p>This time they all knew it was Aziraphale that reached out in the metaphysical plane. His essence tangling with the tendrils of his beloved. It broke his heart, cracked the core of his existence at the hesitance. As if both expected to be smote. To be burnt. To be scalded. Like he had done to them more times that humans could count.</p><p> </p><p>He did though. He took to heart every time he cut into his darlings. Every time he burnt them with his cold. He kept score and one of these days, he’d ask for forgiveness. For absolution. For the chance to help the wounds heal.</p><p> </p><p>So he reached for the hesitant tendrils, gentle and kind as he could be. (And couldn’t be. He was so, so, so cruel.) And he could be so, so, so kind. And as wrapped all of them in his wings to embrace them. To protect them. (As he failed to do.)</p><p> </p><p>And they curled around him as if he deserves their trust after he had failed them so. He shivered and tried to hide the fear in his core.</p><p>But they were one in that moment, not three celestials burning with guilt and begging for reprieve. They were one. A massive roil of essence that was Holy and Damned. Cursed and Blessed. Divine and Infernal. They bared themselves to each other. Slowly, painfully slowly, they revealed their fears and shame. And the clinging guilt that not even Aziraphale’s benediction can wash away.</p><p> </p><p>Crowley’s guilt is rot and decay. It was a wound festering with infection and poison and a miasma of evil that hang over the Damned fogged around the cut.</p><p>They had healed him of it. Slowly and painfully. Painstakingly removing the pus that stunk like the deepest pits of Hell. It took them so long. Working and working and working to save Crowley.</p><p>To clear the miasma and to clean the wound. They stitched it shut and Aziraphale kissed it well while Gabriel blew a blessing onto it. They watched it heal, slowly, slowly, agonizingly slow. When it was fully healed, the long branching crack of the scar adorned Crowley’s star dusted skin.</p><p> </p><p>Gabriel’s guilt is a huge monster with a mockery of Crowley’s face and Aziraphale’s eyes and it weighed heavily on his shoulder. Mocking him in every step that he takes.</p><p>Aziraphale had looked at it with fury in his eyes that all Crowley needed to do was be quick enough to pull the Archangel from the abomination’s grasp and held him with a litany of apologies and reassurances. He had sobbed into him so intently that they almost missed the sound of Aziraphale’s rage.</p><p>Crowley looked up from where his face was buried in Gabriel’s hair and saw the thunderous eyes of Aziraphale as he slew the beast that was more than ten times his size. He nudged Gabriel gently so he could stand witness to the Wrath of the Lord’s Soldier.</p><p>When he had unmade the thing, Aziraphale smiled at their catcalls and noises of appreciation, weakly.</p><p> </p><p>Aziraphale’s guilt had been the most terrible of all. It was a mirror of him. It was cruel. Its eyes were the same color and its mouth’s shape is identical but it was so, so, so, <em>so wrong.</em> Because it was cruel. It had malice that had never touched Aziraphale’s face. It whispered numbers to Aziraphale’s ears and they watched unbelieving as Aziraphale bled with each number. Each count.</p><p>Sometimes the monster of Aziraphale would smile cruelly and maliciously and it would look wrong, <em>wrong, wrong, wrong</em> on Aziraphale and then it would whisper places with the numbers and Aziraphale’s wounds would deepen. But Aziraphale did not do anything. Even when his coat was stained and ripped.</p><p>They stood unable to move. Straining to listen to Aziraphale’s fervent, feverish whispers.</p><p>“One of these days,” he whispered, sounding frantic and manic even to his darlings, “One of these days, I’ll find the courage to apologise.”</p><p>“426<sup>th</sup>.” It hissed in Aziraphale’s ears, “Rome.”</p><p>Aziraphale whimpered. “That was cruel.” He said to nobody but himself. He had forgotten their presence. “I told Crowley he was a harlot. That of course he would be using his body to tempt. That was what <em>demons</em> do.” Aziraphale gulped, unaware of the blood. “I’ll kneel for that one.”</p><p>Realization slapped them in the face and they barely had the chance to nod at each other before their wings are behind them and they were making a lunge for Aziraphale.</p><p>Crowley slammed into <em>it.</em> Miracling a rapier and thrusting it in the middle of its chest that looked so much yet so little like Aziraphale’s. Gabriel slammed into Aziraphale and held onto him tightly. Healing every wound on him and whispering with fervor and desperately into Aziraphale.</p><p>Crowley killed it and stabbed it and then with a fortifying breath, burnt it with Hellfyre. He fell onto them and started whispering with Gabriel. With vehemence and vigor. He hissed threats under his breath in Aziraphale’s ears and almost collapsed in relief when he giggled at his empty promises.</p><p> </p><p>He surged forward and held both of them in his arms and cradled them in his wings. They melted into each other.</p><p>And then they were flooding each other, they were flowing into one another and then they ceased to exist as they once were. Memories and lines became blurred and unclear and they stopped being who they are and started being something else entirely. Their light fluctuated with joy.</p><p>What Samuel could have given to be witness to this.</p>
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